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In a quiet suburb of the city, a person stands outside his home, wearing a sleeveless jumper and voicing his feelings. “I notice myself getting quieter. Harder to see,” remarks the protagonist, looking up at the night sky. “One thing’s led to another and currently I feel like unless I take action, I’ll just carry on in this simple, peaceful routine.” His friend Paul, Leonard’s best confidant, reflects on this statement. “There's no harm in that,” he replies, his robe swaying in the breeze. “Superior to attempting to leave an impact and causing harm instead.”

For anyone exhausted by the bluster and rat-tat-tat of today’s TV terrain, Leonard and Hungry Paul steps in similar to a warm cover with a hot drink of a sweet cordial.

Similar to its harmless protagonists, Leonard and Hungry Paul – a half-dozen installment comedy created by its authors, adapted from the novelist’s quiet 2019 novel – casts a critical eye toward today's world; looking critically above its prematurely middle-aged glasses on everything related to unnecessary noise, abrupt changes or – perish the thought – an abundance of ambition. The program on the contrary, an ode to introversion; a gentle tribute for those satisfied to amble along below the parapet. However. The character (one more uniquely quirky performance from Alex Lawther) is unsettled. He feels a creeping “desire to unlock the entryways in my existence … a little.” The passing of his mother has whisked the rug out from under him and the 32-year-old, a writer for others, now feels questioning the choices that directed him to where he is (alone; defensively moustached; creating several kids' reference books for an employer who ends messages saying “goodbye for now”).

Thus Leonard starts on a journey to find happiness, with the slightly bolder Paul (Laurie Kynaston) serving as his confidante, guide and partner in a weekly board games evening which acts as debate (“Does the pool feel warm because kids pee in it, or do children urinate since it's warm?”) and refuge.

(What's the origin of "Hungry" Paul? No idea. The beginning of this name appears lost in mystery. Maybe he once ate a snack very fast, or reacted to a socially fraught incident by hastily opening four scotch eggs with his teeth).

Into Leonard’s gentle world bursts a vibrant character (the actress), a new spring-loaded co-worker who happily suggests to get rid of the awful manager (Paul Reid) during the office fire drill. The rushing noise noticeable represents Leonard's calm life being turned upside down.

Elsewhere in the first episode of the comedy driven less by plot and centered around what younger viewers may refer to as “vibes”, viewers encounter Hungry Paul’s dad (the brilliant the actor), a battered sofa of a man who covertly observes, saves and reviews television game programs to amaze his devoted partner through his fact recall.

Leading viewers throughout this subtle warmth is a narrator who closely resembles – and actually is – Julia Roberts. Truly, Julia Roberts. Should you wonder, “certainly the presence of such a famous actor clashes with the series’ unshowy MO and starts off as just an interruption?” you would be correct. However, Roberts does a good job, and dialogue for example “Leonard’s problem is his absence of a look of sudden insight” assist in making sure that first reservations yield if not quite to appreciation, then at least acceptance.

But that’s enough grumbling currently. The series' spirit is in the right place: which is “resting on a bench next to the Detectorists, indicating the duck it loves.” It’s a series that ambles along in its sleeveless jumper, sometimes gazing upward into space, at other times looking at its slippers, quietly confident that no experience is in life as uplifting as spending time with good friends.

Open the doors and windows within your world, a little, and allow it entry.